by Alan Garner
“Oh,” said Pad, “this is the œcumenical time we’re having, isn’t it, sir? œcumenical. And that’s the big word for a heathen, hedge-school, papist Teigue from Ballimony!” He laughed. “Now it seems it’s me mates that have turned in, the idle ones. Would you be keeping me company in this terrible storm with a hand or two of Spoil-Five?”
“Certainly,” said the chaplain.
“I’ll just get me pack,” said Pad, and he winked at William as he felt in his hammock. He sat down again on the table, holding a dismembered book, crudely marked as playing cards. “And would you like to be having a small wager, to give the game an edge, like?”
“How may we wager,” said the chaplain, “when we have no spoils in common?”
“Well, sir, how would it be if, every time I lose, that’s three Hail Marys, and, if I lose overall, we’ll put a Novena on the top of them?”
“And what shall be my wager?” said the chaplain.
“Oh, the pleasure of your company, sir. Indeed, for every game you lose, you shall have a tot of your o-be-joyful; for I’m not the one to make a man sorry over a game of cards.”
“You’re nothing but a rogue, McAllenan,” said the chaplain.
“And aren’t all Teigues?” said Pad. “And aren’t you the one to know that? But, if you want to put some weight to it, if you lose overall, shall I be taken as your servant, with leave to come and go about the ship while on me duties, and scour no darbies, day or night. How’s that for a wager?”
“You would sleep here,” said the chaplain.
“But no irons,” said Pad.
“No irons,” said the chaplain.
“Let me deal you a hand, sir,” said Pad. “They’re poor things for cards, but a man has to take as he finds.”
Pad dealt out the cards, and the chaplain began to pick them up. He stopped.
“This is the Book of Common Prayer!”
“The what, sir? Ah, you’ve the bee’s wisdom on you. But how’s an ignorant, heathen, papist, hedge-school Teigue to know it?”
“It is sacrilege!” said the chaplain.
“Could we not say œcumenical, sir, in such a storm as may be the finishing of us? It’s a grand sounding word, and no harm meant. Will you not play me œcumenical cards?”
“McAllenan, you’re everything I’ve heard said of you, and more. But, damme, I like your spunk!”
“Well, that’s a start,” said Pad.
“Then what happens?” said Eggy Mo.
“The giant looks,” said William, “and he sees Jack chopping, and he roars and he roars. But Jack chops and he chops; he chops right through that beanstalk.”
“Wait on,” said Eggy Mo, and was sick again.
“Mr McAllenan can read,” Jeremiah whispered.
“How do you know?” said William.
“Watch his eyes.”
“The giant swings like a plumbob,” said William, holding Eggy Mo’s hand again. “What a caterwauling! He tries to get back up the sky; but the more he grabs at the beanstalk, the more it comes away; until, grabbing and tugging, blahting and yowking, he drops right down into the garden, all tangled in the beanstalk.”
“The Psalms of David, One and Two,” said Jeremiah. “That is the Ace of Spades: or Old Frizzle, as it is known among the Fancy, I believe. And the Ace of Diamonds, the Earl of Cork, is the Table to Find Easter Day.”
“And there he lies,” said William, “dead as a doornail.”
“The Creed of Saint Athanasius is Jack Shepherd, the Knave of Diamonds. I fear that Mr Knopwood is taking too much of the brandy.”
“‘That’s reckoned him up,’ says Jack, ‘rump and stump, it has. Rump and stump.’ And it has. But Jack and his mother, what with the giant’s gold, his red hen and the singing harp – well: they’re in clover. And, if they’re still living, they’ll be there yet.”
“That was good. I liked that,” said Eggy Mo, and he fell out of his hammock into the stew below, and lay there.
“The ten of Hearts is the Table of Kindred and Affinity,” said Jeremiah.
They watched.
“Your o-be-joyful’s gone, sir. The bottle’s empty.”
“Lero, lero, lero, lero,” said the chaplain.
“So I’ll be having the slangs faked tomorrow, sir. And I’ll look forward to serving your honour.”
Pad gathered the cards. He lifted the chaplain’s legs and tucked them about the table’s and cradled the bottle in the chaplain’s arms. Then he climbed into his hammock.
The ship heeled, and, with only the one dead weight to hold it, the table slid along the deck, drawing the glow of the lantern with it. The chaplain’s eyes were closed, but he bounced his buttocks and cried, “Yoiks! Tantivy! Tantivy!”
The Irish turned over to see, awake and grinning.
“Bear a bob, there!” shouted the chaplain as the table reversed and trundled back down the deck. He began to sing.
The Irish took up their spoons and played the tune. The table slid away again, carrying the light, to the furthest reaches of the orlop, but the chaplain’s throat was strong.
“There was an old prophesy found in a bog.”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!” answered the hammocks.
The table disappeared, but for its glow, into the stern, and came back, skidding in the slime.
“‘Ireland shall be ruled by an ass and a dog,’” sang the chaplain.
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!” echoed the deck.
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la.
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!”
The table spun as the ship yawed.
“And now this prophecy is come to pass.”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!”
“For Talbot’s the dog and James is the ass!”
“Lilli burlero bullen a-la!
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!
“Lero lero lilli burlero, lero lero bullen a-la!!”
The table upended against the hull, and the chaplain was pitched into the vomit, his head on Eggy Mo’s lap. The lantern went out.
“Where I dine, I sleep,” said the Reverend Robert Knopwood.
“Amen,” said Pad in the dark.
11
“WELL, IT’S TIME for me to be breaking Bobby’s fast, and get him shaved.”
“Would you be so kind, Daniel,” said Jeremiah, “as to present Mr Knopwood with my compliments, and to ask him whether he would have the time to spare me a few words?”
“Mother of God! Have you not enough of your own?”
“I wish to speak with him,” said Jeremiah.
“Then why didn’t you say so?” said Pad.
“He can’t help them binnacles,” said Renter. “Not like you, putting on the Irish to get Knoppy’s red rag out.”
“I’m never getting his red rag out,” said Pad. “Though he’s as fat as a hen in the forehead, still he’s a man’s man; and I wouldn’t flusticate him by being what he thinks I’m not. And if that isn’t Irish, what is?”
Pad ran up the companion ladder. In the dusk of the orlop, the silvery twilight that pricked the eyes showed another day had come. The hues were all that told the hours between the far off bells. Groans of dreams, the coughing and gobbing, brought the deck awake. Lines grew for the latrines, and those who would not wait, did not.
“Teddy-me-Godson. Are you in a bate? Oh, you’ve beshat your hammock, look at you. Come on. Come on. You’ll miss your Tommy ration.” Renter shook him, paused, and pulled the blanket off, hugging it to himself. “Hey, mates! He’s gone to Peg Trantum’s!”
There was a rush for the hammock. The body fell to the deck, and men seized on it, fighting over the carrion. Only the trousers were left, and that only because the irons snagged them.
“Put him back,” said Renter, when there was nothing else to be had. “And cover him in tidy.”
“It’s good,” said Renter, holding the blanket to the light. “In the nick.”
“How
may you?” said Jeremiah.
“When mine’s rags? This’ll dry.”
“I’ve got a shoe,” said Eggy Mo.
“One shoe?” said Jeremiah.
“Ay.”
“Does it fit?” said William.
“Nearly,” said Eggy Mo.
“You’re a grand un,” said William.
“Good-day to you, Mr Erbin.”
The chaplain came down the companion ladder, followed by Pad.
“Good-day, Mr Knopwood.”
“And a fine day it is, too,” said the chaplain. “All in all, we have had a fair voyage, since Rio and the Cape. Last night, I took my pipe on deck, and looked up at the sky clifted with stars; and such stars, sir! Though, to see Orion invert brings thoughts of what a mighty feat, with God’s help, His Majesty’s oak and canvas may achieve at the hand of man. But such stars!”
“Ah, there, perforce, you have the advantage of us,” said Jeremiah.
“Forgive me,” said the chaplain. “In the drawing of attention to your situation, I was most remiss.”
“To draw your attention was the burden of my request,” said Jeremiah.
“And what may that be?” said the chaplain.
“The heat in these latitudes,” said Jeremiah. “The heat, sir; the temper and very quiddity of the air; the faecal ejecta; the urinary graveolence; the gynaecian catamenia; our sudorous foedity –”
“He means we stink, sir,” said Pad.
“Can nothing be done that a soul may breathe? Why, but this very morning –”
“Stubble it!” whispered Renter.
“I shall speak with the surgeon,” said the chaplain. “I believe that the burning of sea coals is most efficacious in these matters, and does purify the noxious elements. And, to that end, I bid you once more good-day.”
He went back up the companion ladder, with Pad in attendance.
“Why did you silence me?” Jeremiah said to Renter.
“All on account of you were a-going to blow the gab on Teddy-me-Godson,” said Renter.
“But the man is dead, and requires committal.”
“Not yet, he don’t,” said Renter. “There’s eight days’ victuals to be drawn against his name before he comes so hogo we can’t ride the strength of him.”
12
“WHY ARE YOU set on it?” said William.
The men were clearing a space along the orlop. They pushed the chairs and tables against the hull, and lashed the hammocks, except for the stained one that hung above its wetness on the deck floor.
“Your companions have invited you to be of their inner circle of acquaintance,” said Jeremiah. “It would be discourteous, and folly, to refuse.”
“But what’s the odds, when I’m going home?”
“But if you are not?”
“But I am. And Pad. And Eggy Mo. And Renter. And it’s Renter as is the governor of this lot. So why?”
“Ah, friend Charles,” said Jeremiah. “I agree: Charles is of a devious nature, and one for any sport.”
“Come with us.”
“I fear that the geography would test not only my intellect but my constitution, William. But my heart will dwell on you, as I labour under a southern sun.”
“You think I shan’t do it, don’t you?”
“Not so much ‘will not’ as ‘cannot’,” said Jeremiah. “I look at you, and the picture is ever before my eyes:
‘O nimium caelo et pelago confise sereno,
Nudus in ignota, Palinure, iacebis harena.’”
William frowned, and worked his lips. “‘Sky and sea . . . Happy in the sand with nowt too much on his ignorant cufuffle’? No. That’s reckoned me up.”
“‘O Palinurus, too trusting in heaven and a calm sea, you shall lie naked on an unknown sand.’” said Jeremiah.
“Who’s Pallywhatsit?”
“A man who thought that he knew whither he was going, and took no heed.”
“Yay, but he didn’t have this, did he?” said William, and reached into his pocket. He opened his fist carefully. The quartz was dull in the grey light; yet, deep down, was the shadow of a rainbow.
“And what may that be?” said Jeremiah.
“Me swaddledidaff.”
“And that is what?”
“A promise,” said William. “My promise. Don’t you let on.”
Jeremiah looked at William.
“Ay,” he said. “I would trust that where I would not your compass.”
William nodded, and put the swaddledidaff back in his pocket. “Port Jackson. China. Turn left. And straight home.”
“Yet you are not troubled at the thought of our sable brethren, the Indians?”
“Oh, they’re nowt, by all accounts; what there is of them.”
“They are cannibal. Fee, fi, fo, fum, William. Fee, fi, fo. And the fum.”
“Are you there?” called Renter. “It’s time!”
“I’m coming!” said William.
“Nil desperandum,” said Jeremiah.
“It’s daft,” said William.
Renter was sitting on a table in the middle of the deck. William went and stood before him.
“Are you ready and desirous to be Stalled to the Rogue?” said Renter.
“I am,” said William.
“And are you ready and desirous to take the Oath, and, with it, a new name?”
“I am,” said William.
“Then swear on Man Thomas and on bawbles.”
William drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and spoke at a gallop of concentration.
“I do swear on Man Thomas and on bawbles that I, Crank Cuffin, shall be a true brother, and that I will obey the commands of the great tawny prince, and keep his counsel.
“I will take my prince’s part against all that do oppose him; nor will I suffer him, or any one belonging to us, to be abused by any strange abrams, rufflers, hookers, pailliards, swaddlers, Irish toyles –”
“Oh, they’re the ones!” shouted Pad.
“Shurrup. I’ll forget. Irish toyles, swigmen, whip jacks, jarkmen, bawdy baskets, dommerars, clapperdodgeons, patricoes or curtals.
“I will not conceal aught I win out of libkins or from the ruffmans.
“Lastly, I will cleave to my doxy wap stiffly, and will bring her duds, marjery praters, gobblers, grunting cheats or tibs of the buttery, is winnings for her weppings.”
A cheer broke out, and voices called: “Well told, Crank!” “Very good tale!” Renter lifted up a tin mug of lime juice and vinegar, and poured it over William’s head, and shouted for all to hear: “I, dimber-damber and upright-man, with this gage of bowse, do Stall thee, Crank Cuffin, to the Rogue! And from henceforth it shall be lawful for thee to cant for thy living in all places!”
There was more cheering, and Renter got down from the table and stood, facing William. Then a rhythm of leg irons being clinked together built up. Others joined, to a different beat. And the deeper notes of the long chains were added. William and Renter began to dance around each other, with as much grace as their own irons would allow. Pad and the Irish started to sing, and all joined in.
“Bing out, bien morts, and toure and toure,
Bing out, bien morts, and toure;
For all your duds are binged awast;
The bien cove hath the loure,
The loure,
The bien cove hath the loure!”
Another cheer, and Pad called, “You now, Crank! Let’s have one from you! And let’s have it a dance for us!”
“I can’t,” said William. “I’m no singer.”
“Oh, but you are!” said Pad. “There’s devil a man without a song!”
“Well,” said William, “I’ve a little ditty as we had used to sing at home every year.”
“And is there a dance in it?”
“Ay – there is.”
“Come on, then! Bear a bob!”
The chains began to ring in waiting: clink, clink, clink, clink.
“Faster,” said William. �
�Same as this: Di-dee, di-dee, di-diddle-di-dee.” They picked up the tune, and William sang.
“I’ll dye, I’ll dye my petticoat red;
For the lad I love I’d bake my bread;
And then my daddy would wish that I were dead;
Sweet Willy in the morning among the rush!”
Already the men and women were dancing, and the sound of their chains hammered through the deck.
“Together now!” said William.
“Shoorly, shoorly, shoo-gang-rowl!
Shoo-gang-lolly-mog, shoog-a-gang-a-low!
Sweet Willy in the morning among the rush!”
“Oh, that’s the fine tune!” cried Pad. “Let’s be having it again, and every Jack-rag of you singing!”
The noise was tremendous. The whole ship resounded to voice and iron.
Jeremiah watched.
“It would seem that the sea coals did their work,” said the chaplain. He had come down unnoticed in the tumult.
“As may be,” said Jeremiah. “For myself, I must own that they but piled Pelion on Ossa with their smoke. Though it may be said that the admixture did confound the individualities.”
The second round of the dance ended.
“Is there room for another at the horky?” shouted the chaplain.
“Come down, sir!” said Pad. “But you must sing your dues!”
“Sing?” said the chaplain. “I’ll dance ’em! And you’ll be chorus! Are you ready now for ‘The Merry Golden Tree’?”
“Aye aye!” came the answer, with rattling chains.
“Make space, then! For I’ve some spring to me!”
The crowd parted, the chaplain struck a pose, leapt and began:
“There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she!”
“Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low!” howled the chorus.
“And she was called ‘The Merry Golden Tree’!”
“As she sailed to the Lowlands low!”
The chaplain bounded across the deck.
“She had not sailed a league, a league but only three!”
“Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low!”
“When she came up with a French gallee!”
“As she sailed to the Lowlands low!”
The chaplain made a pirouette, and clicked his heels.
“Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he!”
